


The Blue Wedding

by EverandeverGreen



Series: Drew Blood [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Tarkin - James Luceno, Star Wars: Thrawn - Timothy Zahn
Genre: All roads lead to Coruscant, Arranged Marriage, Artificial Insemination, Asexual Character, Detective Thrawn, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grysk Horde, Latex uniforms, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Triangle, Love/Hate, M/M, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Space Pirates, Treachery, Uprising, Xenophobia, alter ego
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 16:04:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14835458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverandeverGreen/pseuds/EverandeverGreen
Summary: Thrawn's path to Grand Admiral was paved with many victories. Upon that road he was tasked with finding the Empire's celebrity It Girl Druscillia Tarkin, after her disappearance in Wild Space. When Thrawn and Eli Vanto discover her secret alter ego is the singer Drew Blood—a traitor wanted for releasing songs like, 'Impalepetine’ and 'Kill a Stormtrooper'—it only further complicates the case.





	The Blue Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the author's note of The Nightswan, I came to realize that there was a structural problem with this story in which I should have used Druscillia being Drew Blood as the lure and not a twist. There are tried and true formulas when writing a mystery and I shouldn't have experimented with them the way I did because it effed up the pacing of the story. I don't really care how many times I have to rip this story up to get it right, I am not one to stop trying. I know it's better to write a story in its entirety before posting but I have always lived dangerously. Besides, all these errors and rewrites are just helping me hone my writing skills. Third time's the charm as they say.
> 
> To Chromotaphobe: Thank you for getting it.
> 
> To all you patient readers sticking around: You are the icing on the cake.
> 
> This story follows canon timeline and I will keep the plot as close to the Thrawn book as I can. I will also incorporate some aspects of Legends. I do suggest you listen to the audio book version of Thrawn, read by Marc Thompson. It is frigging fantastic, and honestly, it's what made me literally fall in love with Thrawn in the first place. He nailed each and every character's voice. It's absolute perfection and inspired me to write this story.

It would be accurate to call Thrawn a creature of habit. His days consistently began the same—with the making of his bed. He was always meticulous in his execution, careful to ensure the sheets were smoothed and tucked into tight hospital corners, and his pillow placed perfectly centered above the four-inch fold of his blanket.

 

After washing his body with a mild cleanser, he would use the necessary moisturizer to protect his smooth skin from whatever climate he was in, then would garb himself in the regulation Gaberwool uniform of his station; this consisted of a double-breasted olive tunic, matching trousers, and some sturdy black boots whose shine nearly outmatched his sleek indigo hair.

 

Nearly four standard years had passed since his liberation from exile, and yet it felt like only yesterday he was brought before the Emperor, with his greasy long hair and wearing furs covered in the elements.

 

His confidence had never wavered, not once since the beginning of his mission, and it was that faith in himself which had made infiltrating the Galactic Empire a success.

 

Thrawn had yet to decide whether or not the Imperials were suitable allies for the Chiss, or if they would be better utilized as a sacrifice to weaken the scourges of the Dark Regions, thereby granting his people more time to build up their defenses. There was much to consider and so many variables to weigh out before reaching a satisfying conclusion.

 

Take Nightswan for example— the criminal mastermind he had been hunting for the better part of two years. The lengths in which the man went to steal Doonium from the Empire was great in scope. And Thrawn knew his motives could be the missing link to the great question, that burning question that kept him awake in his cabin, long after lights out: _what was the Empire doing with its ever-growing horde of the precious metal?_

 

Thrawn had an inkling but an inkling was far from certainty, and he had to be certain. For if his suspicions were correct, what would it mean for his people? And what would he be forced to do in order to protect them?

 

He thought of this as he and his aide, Ensign Vanto, boarded the light cruiser that was set to take them to the Federal district on Coruscant, and when he strapped himself into his seat, another question came to mind, w _hat does high command want with me now?_

 

**...**

 

 

"Do you know what this is about, sir?" Vanto murmured, as a group of senior officers filed into the room and took their appointed seats.

 

"No, but I find it interesting that you were also summoned," Thrawn said, out of the corner of his mouth. "Try to read their faces."

 

His own eyes lingered on the last man to file into the room.

 

Grand Moff Tarkin, a man who needed no introduction.

 

Thrawn recalled his meeting with Arihnda Pryce at the Gilroy Plaza Diner several months prior, when he had effectively disguised himself to look every bit like the Pantoran many mistook him for. She was being extorted by Moff Ghadi at the time and wished to solicit his support. The two of them conspired long under a dim light; surrounded by the aroma of fried meat and caf.

 

He quieted his thoughts and straightened up even further when the admiral in the center of the procession rose to her feet.

 

"We are met this morning," she began, in a long carrying voice, "to pay special honor to two of our own. Never before has any officer of the Imperial Navy achieved such success in so short a time.

 

"It is therefore with great pleasure that this board confers upon Commander Thrawn the rank of Commodore. Congratulations, Commodore Thrawn."

 

"Thank you, Ma'am," he said, accepting his new insignia plaque. He cast his gaze sideways to Vanto, who by the looks of it was engaged in some internal conflict within himself. Clearly he was not listening, not fully at least; the admiral had said they were paying honor to two, not one.

 

Envy was a debilitating emotion, but he would not fault his aide for this weakness; his promotion was long overdue. Ensign Vanto's talent for identifying and tracking shipping and supplies was most essential to Thrawn's success in quelling the work of smugglers and pirates — and yet it was for this reason Moff Ghadi found it necessary to punish him. But Moff Ghadi was no more.

 

And so, he waited.

 

"It is also an honor and privilege," Admiral Speck went on, "for the board to rectify a situation that has too long been allowed to stand. It is therefore with equal pleasure that this board confers upon Ensign Eli Vanto the rank of Lieutenant Commander, Congratulations Lieutenant Commander Vanto." This time the admiral extended to Vanto his new insignia plaque.

 

"Congratulations," Thrawn said, after the admiral shook Vanto's hand and took a step back.

 

"Th- thank you, sir," Vanto breathed.

 

"Your loftier ranks will bestow upon you new posts. Commodore Thrawn, you will now be a captain of the Imperial Star Destroyer _Chimaera_. Lieutenant Commander Vanto, you too will be given a command station aboard the ISD _Chimaera_. May success be ever in your favor."

 

A few more words of ceremonial nature were said that Thrawn doubted Vanto heard any of. The now Commodore bit the inside of his cheek; his aide's quiet excitement was… infectious.

 

"Congratulations, Commodore." Grand Moff Tarkin nodded his approval to him. "And to you Lieutenant Commander," he added to Vanto.

 

"Thank you, Your Excellency," Thrawn and Eli said in unison.

 

"A fine ceremony," Tarkin continued, "Govenor Arindha Pryce sends her regards and her own congratulations."

 

"I wondered if she might," Thrawn said. "She is well I trust?"

 

"Quite well," Tarkin said. "Eagerly preparing to take on her new post."

 

"I am pleased that things have worked out for her."

 

"As am I." he reached forward and touched the new commodore's insignia plaque on Thrawn's chest. "Consider this a bonus, and also a token of my faith in your abilities to carry out this next task."

 

Thrawn's head cocked to the side, his interest rapidly piqued. The room was now empty, save for the three of them, and there was something suddenly different in the way the Grand Moff held himself. A vulnerability that rounded his proud and bony shoulders in defeat.

 

"Two weeks ago, my daughter traveled to Wild Space. She wanted to try something new for her 24th birthday." _His eyes move from me and settle onto Vanto, his tone holds... accusation?_

 

"Go on," Thrawn urged him.

 

Tarkin cleared his throat and walked towards the window overlooking the galleria below. _His fist clenches, unclenches, and then clenches once more behind his back._ "There has been no word from her. She was to land on Agaris five days ago but she has not."

 

Thrawn's lips pursed in thought. "Is it like Dru to deviate from a plan and not mention it to anyone, and is it unusual for her to fail at maintaining communication with you?"

 

 _The Grand Moff turns fully towards me, his eyes narrow in... wariness._ "Dru." he said coolly, "I was unaware you were on such intimate terms."

 

Vanto shifted on the spot and Thrawn spared him a glance _. His entire body seems to hold great trepidation, he swallows hard, and there is a tightening in the column of his throat, as well as a heightened inferred glow to his cheeks and forehead._

 

"Your daughter and I met at the Motti Gallery several times. She shares my enthusiasm for art." he confessed.

 

"I should have known," Tarkin said. _The coolness in his tone warms a degree but his brow is still knotted in suspicion._

 

"She did not mention your friendship, but that is not entirely unexpected; she doesn't say much to me these days." _He lifts his hand and brushes away lint from his lapel that is not there._ "Tell me, Commodore, did you know of her plan to visit Wild Space?"

 

"She mentioned a weariness of her routine life and a need for flight, to see new horizons, in new worlds. Lady Druscillia has never been to Wild Space. I think that is what held a certain allure to her."

 

"And you educated her of the dangers out there I hope?" Tarkin asked, with that chill creeping back into his voice.

 

"Of course," He said politely.

 

Tarkin held Thrawn's gaze for a moment longer and then sighed. "My apologies, Commodore. I am under a great deal of stress as of late and I am not fully myself. It is not your fault Druscillia has a penchant towards recklessness and abandon." The latter was said through gritted teeth.

 

Thrawn had gathered as much, after the first time he spoke with her.

**...**

 

 

Druscillia's mother's family owned the Motti Gallery, the largest and grandest gallery of the core planets. Her uncle, Brutlicus Motti was the chief curator there and she worked at the Ministry of Information just next door. Thrawn often saw her at the gallery and around the district, plastered on propaganda and perfume advertisements.

 

Once he saw her giving a tour to Spenc Orbar, a cadet he had the misfortune of spending four months with at the Royal Academy. He was not certain if she held the same views against non-humans as the young sub-lieutenant, but he had not thought it prudent to willfully get himself in a situation to find out — her being the daughter of such a high-ranking official after all.

 

And so, he had given her a wide berth.

 

But one day while he studied a spectacular piece of work by Krillin Gabcheek, Druscillia came and stood beside him. Her face was turned up at the large and magnificent portrait, but she watched him from out of the corner of her eye instead, admiring him the way he was the painting.

 

The first thing she ever said to him was, "Why Gabcheek? We have plenty of non-human art here."

 

Thrawn uncrossed one of his arms from the other and brought his index and middle finger to rest against his chin, his eyes not wavering from the flat. "Can I not appreciate human art the way I would that of another species?" he asked drily.

 

"Yes, of course, that's not what I meant!" She had the decency to look embarrassed.

 

He cocked his head to the side and studied her. Lady Druscillia at the time was dressed in a pristine white jumpsuit, with black detailing around the breasts, and fluttery pant-legs that had slits up the sides to show off her legs. Her brown hair was gathered in an elaborate braid that crowned her head and ended in a large and elegant knot on the side of her neck. She looked every bit as haughty as she probably felt.

 

"What did you mean then?"

 

"Human art leaves a lot to be desired, that is, compared to the work of some of the other sentient species we have here at the Motti Gallery," she explained. "Take Gaisan for instance, a Twi'lek painter who creates the most out of the box abstract art in the galaxy. I absolutely adore her!"

 

Her answer had surprised him, though looking back he realized it should not have. "I too enjoy Gaisan's work. Very much in fact," he said, turning fully towards her. "You are Lady Druscillia."

 

"I am." She folded her arms across her chest and pursed her lips, waiting, for what? He did not know.

 

"I saw your ballet performance on the last Empire Day here in the theater," Thrawn said.

 

She unfolded her arms and lowered her defenses again. "Oh, and what did you think of it?"

 

"It was the loveliest thing I have seen since leaving Chiss space."

 

To her credit, she kept her blush short.

 

"Ballet holds a similarity to a dance practiced by the most disciplined of my people." He went on.

 

"What is it called?" She asked.

 

"Pruen'tcia."

 

"Pru- aintka," she repeated. "So, you are that Chiss Captain everyone is talking about."

 

As he expected, she thoroughly butchered the pronunciation of Pruen'tcia. Most humans lacked the vocal means to speak proper Cheunh because they did not use their vocal-chords to their full potential. Hoping she was one of the few capable of such a feat, he gave her his full name, along with a polite dip of his head. "My name is Mitth'raw'nuruodo."

 

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mith- Mith thrawn new ru odo," she shifted uncomfortably on the spot.

 

Thrawn's lip curled in a slight wince. He usually didn't bother correcting those who failed at pronouncing his true name; he was perfectly happy to be referred to by its core, but he found himself wanting to hear Druscillia Tarkin say it properly — talented ballerina that she was. "Mitth-'"

 

She smiled gratefully and repeated after him. "Mitth-'"

 

"Raw-'" His voice raised in pitch here.

 

"Raw-'" Hers did not.

 

"Nuruodo," Thrawn finished.

 

"Newruodo."

 

"Nuruodo," he repeated, slower this time.

 

"Noo-roo-o-do," she looked up hopefully. "So, it's Mith'thraw'nurodo?"

 

"Close. But you… never mind, I did not expect you to vocalize every pitch and pause properly upon first hearing it. You may call me by my core name instead. Thrawn."

 

"I am sorry," she said, fidgeting with a strip of jewels around her wrist.

 

"There is no need to apologize, My Lady," he said.

 

They held each others' gaze for a moment. He could tell she was perturbed by his glowing red eyes, but her posture and blue eyes lacked any trace of malice or the other by-products of fear and ignorance.

 

"Come this way, I want to show you something." She turned and beckoned him after her.

 

"We have no Chiss art here, which is unfortunate because I would love to see more of your people's art and learn more of your culture."

 

"More?" Thrawn had raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Are you saying you have seen Chiss art before?"

 

Druscillia stopped walking and turned towards him, a proud smile on her face. "Only one piece, a sculpture called _The Frulo'goyalin_ , have you heard of it?"

 

Thrawn let out a short bout of laughter, the unexpected sound vibrating through the silence of the corridor. He collected himself at once, holding his fingertips to his lips and smoothing away the smile there. "I think you are referring to the renowned piece called Kam'ah Fruallagoila, Cheunh for 'falling sky'. It was lost long ago. You said, Frulo'goyalin which is Cheunh for… Cheunh for a male's reproductive organ."

 

"I did not!" She hid her face in her hand, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

 

"You did, but it was a valiant effort. You are the first human I have heard use my tongue in a very long time. Too long, it seems."

 

"Speaking of long," she said sobering again, "a four-syllable word to name your cocks with? You Chiss males are either well endowed or you are all overcompensating for your small ships." She used her index finger and thumb to illustrate her point.

 

There were actually six syllables, when it was pronounced properly. "Some of us are and some of us are not," Thrawn had said rather blandly, though he could feel his face burn purple.

 

"This way." Sniggering, she took out a key card and opened a door with the words 'do not enter' on the front.

 

He followed her through to a small chamber, crammed from floor to ceiling with art. He walked in between the rows of flats, sculptures, textiles and pottery, taking it all in and cataloguing what he saw in the deep recesses of his mind. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move, and could not help but feel like prey.

 

"The Chiss sculpture is not here of course, we do not own it or have the rights to have it at our gallery, but I thought you might like to see some of the rejects my uncle feels is not worthy for the floor." She gestured to the door over her shoulder.

 

"I am very skeptical that the sculpture you saw was the authentic Kam'ah Fruallgoila, but I would still like to see it one day. Even a counterfeit can have tremendous value."

 

"What sort of value?" she asked, coming up behind him.

 

"The value of information," Thrawn said, squatting before a very large and ancient looking vase. "I can learn the forger's skill, their perspective of the artist, I can learn their motive for the lie by the care put into the forgery, and I can also learn the morals, standards, and wealth of the proprietor of the falsified work."

 

"I see," Druscillia said. "Well, I'm not surprised you can see all that."

 

"No?"

 

"When you said you liked Gaisan's work, I knew there was more to you than met the eye. Not many appreciate abstract art the way they should, and even those who do can not tolerate someone as unconventional as Gaisan."

 

"Beauty comes in many forms, My Lady," he said politely, standing up and turning to face her. "I thank you for showing me these. Your uncle would do well finding a place on the floor for the Pantoran pottery. They are really quite breathtaking."

 

They went back to the main room.

 

"Please tell me you will be on Coruscant for a while, I'd love to pick that brain of yours some more."

 

"I have five more days here before I am to return to my duties in space." Thrawn told her.

 

She looked him up and down. "Do you always wear your uniform, even on leave?"

 

"I am on lunch reprieve, actually."

 

"So, you are working here on Coruscant?" She sounded curious, but her expression showed no hint of wonderment, Thrawn concluded that she was aware in some way of his purpose in the city or she was merely learning how he told truths, half truths, and how he told lies.

 

"From time to time," he said, with a casual roll of his hand.

 

"Where?"

 

"You ask many questions, Lady Druscillia."

 

"Am I out of line?"

 

Thrawn shrugged. "Not yet. But I am intrigued by your curiosity of me."

 

"Why? I told you I would like to learn of Chiss art and culture and you may be the only Chiss I will ever meet. Your people aren't exactly social."

 

"I said I am intrigued by it, not that I am unaware of its origins."

 

"Oh."

 

"Yes."

 

She looked away from his eyes and bit her lip, considering the meaning of his words. "In any case," she began, shaking her head as though to clear it. "I already know you're working with the Emperor. Many do. A lot of people are talking about it."

 

"Positively, I hope," he said, his small smile growing.

 

"What do you think?"

 

Thrawn could think of a few things. It was no secret many did not approve of him. He expected nothing less, of course; the case would be the same if a human were in Chiss territory. Many were rudimentary and vain when it came to their actual standing in the grand scheme of things.

 

"Many in high command do not approve of my methods," he said after some time.

 

Lady Druscillia's smile was as microscopic as his but after a moment she burst out laughing, taking a brazen step forward closer to him. They were nearly eye to eye because of her impractically high heels. "You don't care at all, do you?"

 

It was then he had sensed something in her, a sort of eagerness to share in a potential conspiracy.

 

"Not even a little," he said stoically.

 

"Good," She watched him a moment longer then added, "I must be on my way, Mith'raw'noorodo, but I would like to see you again, if that is alright."

 

"I plan on returning tomorrow when I am off duty. I will be here at 1700 hours."

 

"What luck, I will be here then as well," She flashed him a dazzling grin then turned to leave. He watched her go, heard the tapping of her heels clicking on the marble floors even as she disappeared around a corner.

 

After that meeting Thrawn had a feeling his mission was about to become more complicated than it already was.

 

 

**...**

 

The Grand Moff's blue eyes bored into his. Unlike Dru, whose blue eyes were warm and expressive, his were cold and calculating.

 

"A dead son, and now my daughter in the hands of pirates. Stars knows what they must be doing to her."

 

"She would make a valuable hostage; there is a good chance she is being treated with dignity and care," Thrawn said.

 

"These are savages we speak of, worse than resistance fighters, but I will hope for their sake that she is," Tarkin said darkly. "You are from the Unknown Regions, Commodore, and you, Lieutenant Commander, are from Wild Space. Your talents have gotten you this far in the Navy; I could think of no one better outside of family to recruit in the search."

 

"Why are you certain Lady Druscillia was taken by pirates?" Thrawn asked.

 

"Who else do you have in mind?"

 

"A man of your status surely has a number of enemies, Your Excellency, Moff Ghadi perhaps?" Thrawn said.

 

"Moff Ghadi," Tarkin scoffed twice. "He would not dare. He is a fool, not suicidal. Besides, what could he hope to gain from abducting my daughter?"

 

"The chance to watch you suffer. You did put an end to his career."

 

"A bit obvious, do you not agree?" Tarkin said. "Had this happened years down the line from now I would be inclined to agree, but he is already under investigation. He would not dare risk such a bold move."

 

"You may be giving Moff Ghadi more credit than he deserves," Thrawn said.

 

A rare smile moved the Grand Moff's lips. "A mistake many of my colleagues have made over the years as well," he said. "Very well, Commodore, follow whatever leads you deem appropriate. Come to me for any resources you need made available to you. My nephew Admiral Motti is also leading a search." Tarkin handed Thrawn a data card. "You will find information regarding the ongoing investigation on that."

 

"Thank you, Your Excellency," he said, pocketing it.

 

Tarkin nodded. "Now, there is the matter of your discretion. If this is a ploy to distract me, weaken me, or worse yet challenge my charges against Moff Ghadi, I am relying on secrecy to keep this contained."

 

"I understand, Your Excellency."

 

"And you?" Tarkin said, looking over Thrawn's shoulder at Vanto.

 

"I understand, Your Excellency," Vanto parroted back, albeit more nervously than Thrawn did.

 

"Very good. Now, you two have enemies of the Empire to catch. Happy hunting." And with that he turned to go, leaving Thrawn and Vanto alone to discuss their thoughts on the matter.

 


End file.
